Telescope
by Foxy-Pancho
Summary: Excerpt: Not that he would leave Sammy out. Lord knew, a feat like that was virtually impossible...no, but he would make this about Dean. After all, it was Dean who was struggling with this the hardest, at least right now. WeeChester fic oneshot


**Author's Note: Okay, so this is my first _Supernatural_ fic, and it's also my first WeeChester fic, so please…be kind! This was one of those things that nags at you in the uttermost back of your mind until you put the thing on paper, and my beta-reader (nod to her) said I should post this…so here is my creation! I love WeeChester fics…I always pick them out and read them, so I thought I'd take a stab at one myself! Okay, okay…enough of me…**

**DISCLAIMER: And so we're clear…I don't own _Supernatural_, although it would be cool if I did…then I could sit around and stare at Sam and Dean in person instead of just on the T.V. (sighs)**

**TITLE: _Telescope_ (rated T for a few…and I mean few…choice words, thought by John…)**

John Winchester settled back into the couch's lumpy cushions, his body grateful just for the moment he had to sit down. The poltergeist in Amherst hadn't been as easy as he'd anticipated, and he had the bruises and scrapes to prove it.

Jim had raised a questioning eyebrow when John had come and gotten the boys, stating that maybe he should keep Sam and Dean overnight, allowing John a day to recoup, but Sam's immediate wailing when he heard that they weren't staying with their dad tonight settled that discussion. Dean, stoic and silent next to Pastor Jim, didn't even acknowledge the Pastor's suggestion, or attempt to quiet his younger brother.

John's nerves were frayed by the time they got back to the dump of a hotel he'd picked out for the three of them; Sam wouldn't stop crying and Dean was…John didn't even know how to describe his eldest. Ever since Mary…Dean hadn't been the same.

And it wasn't for John not trying. Hell, he'd tried to keep things normal- well, as normal as things could get- for the two boys. He kept Lucky Charms for Sam, since he'd decided that was his favorite cereal (though John mostly figured it was because it used to be Dean's), and he'd even attempted, in the beginning, to keep Dean playing t-ball. But Dean was…a shell. Sure, he'd gone outside in the parking lot with John, glove in hand, but after an half an hour of John trying rare words of encouragement and praises, Dean was no different. He played, of course, but he was robotic, catching and tossing the ball back to John with no emotion, no feeling behind it.

The only thing he'd done with any vigor was send fretful glances back to the motel, where Sam was inside, watching T.V. That seemed to be the only thing the young boy wanted to do, or ever did with any emotion- keep a sharp eye on Sam. At first, John was grateful for the help. Not that he was a bad parent, but Mary hadn't quite left an instruction booklet on how to raise two young boys, and John didn't know exactly what to do.

But Dean did, and usually managed better than John ever could. But now- he had no idea what was wrong. Usually, Dean wasn't this distant. And John had all but surmised something was up when his eldest refused to have anything to do with his newfound charge, Sam. Jim had stated that the two had played with some other kids from the congregation today, but since the end of Jim's service, Dean had been this way. Jim was at a loss as to what was wrong, and that left John baffled as well.

And that, that reason alone, would be why Sam was crying right now. Dean had refused to read Sam a book. He'd gone directly into the bedroom and gone to bed, leaving Sam in the living area with John, unable to be consoled. And John had almost had it.

Sam had been crying, wailing, for over an hour and a half, and was past the point of crying actual tears. Instead, he was screaming so loud, his small chest heaving, nearly choking himself on the dry heaves that had started. Rising, John picked his youngest up, nearly getting whacked in the jaw by the boy's left hook, and carried him into the bedroom.

"Dean, dude, I need your help here. Sammy won't…" John's voice was clipped short as his eyes fell on his son. Dean was curled into a tight ball, lying on his side, sobbing almost silently into the pillow. Caught, he quickly began to wipe his eyes, rolling away from John to hide his breakdown.

Sammy eagerly crawled from John's grip and onto the bed, trying desperately to squirm into his brother's arms. But Dean rolled again, pushing his little brother away from him. "Dean?" John started, dropping to the edge of the mattress beside his son. "I'm asleep," Dean mumbled, peering out under the pillow to see if his father had left. "Nice try. Come on, Dean…" John said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

He wasn't good at this fatherly stuff. 'Caring and Sharing' weren't exactly John's strong points; he'd always left that to Mary. In fact, he'd never really had to be sharing with Mary- she'd just kind of…got it.

"I was scared to ask what he meant," came Dean's muffled response from the bed. It was so soft, John had to strain to hear exactly what his son had said. "Okay, soldier," he said, lifting the small boy up from underneath the mass of pillows and blankets and twisting him around to face him, "Talk. Now."

He'd honestly not meant for that to come out as an order, but Dean's rigidness in his arms clearly said otherwise. John tried an attempt at softening his gaze, though he'd be damned if he actually managed to do so. Dean was still silent in his father's hold, and Sam had actually quieted down too, watching his brother precariously, his eyes all big and puppy-dogish, probably hoping Dean would feel sorry and take hold of him.

"Dean, I'm not a psychic. Talk to me, son." Dean wiped his eyes again, blinking up at John with guilt-ridden green eyes. "Henry…" Dean's eyes welled up with more tears, and John felt a surge of panic rush over him. _Why couldn't Mary be here? How am I supposed to deal with my crying kid…kids? _Dean struggled for a moment over his emotions, then, with quivering chin, he managed to get them somewhat under control and continued. "Henry said that people who died went either to heaven or to…to…" with a quick glance at Sammy, he leaned close to his dad and whispered "hell" into his ear, which, if the moment wouldn't have been so tense, John would've laughed at his son's refusal to say such a word in front of his brother.

Instead, the familiar sense of panic washed over him again. He knew where this conversation was going, and he wasn't sure what to say. Dean sniffled a little, then looked up at John with pleading eyes. "Where's mommy?" he said with a shaky voice.

John wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, unable to answer Dean. Not because he didn't want to; because he didn't know what to say. His brain had suddenly frozen; all the quick lies and half truths that normally rolled off the older man's tongue weren't coming to him. "Dad?" Dean urged, cautiously tapping his father on the arm, clearly unsure of whether to disturb the man of his revere.

John jerked a little under Dean's touch, remembering that he was in the presence of his children. Sammy, clearly unaware of what was going on and being said, had even quieted and stilled, watching his father with intense eyes. He knew when John was talking about their mom, even if he was only four. His dad always had that look…Sam couldn't describe it, and he wasn't sure that their was even such a thing as a _look_ from his dad, but he had it right now. Maybe, Sam determined, maybe it was his eyes. His dad always got this sad, distant look in his eyes. Quite honestly, Sam wished his dad and Dean would talk more about his mom. He loved hearing Dean tell stories about her, but Dean didn't dare say anything in front of their dad. That was a no-no. And so, Sam sat, watching the whole scene play out in front of him with quiet intensity. He just knew, somewhere in the small, four year-old mind, that dad was about to talk about their mom.

Dean, on the other hand, looked terrified. He cringed inwardly, silently berating himself for even letting his dad see him cry. What was it his dad had said to Sammy last time he'd had a crying fit about missing mom…? Oh yeah it was, _Come on soldier; look alive. Soldiers don't cry. _ And that, that was exactly what John had caught him doing. He knew what happened when their dad got like this. These were the times when he'd urge Sammy out of the room while his dad dug through his stash of Jack, Jim, and Juan and go on a drinking binge for days. Yeah, for a six year-old, Dean knew all about his father's closeness to the nasty brown liquid. That's why he'd do the big brother thing and whisk Sammy away to play a rousing game of _Hunters and Monsters_ or watch that show about the superheroes Sammy liked so much. He stared up at his dad, pleading with big green eyes not just let the whole thing drop. He'd go back to taking care of Sammy for him if that's what he wanted. It just…Sammy reminded him of that night, and Dean didn't want to think about it right now, but if that's what it would take, he would suck it up and do it. He would be the soldier John had worked to train him as.

And finally, John looked at his son.

Swallowing the flood of nerves and guilt down so he could speak, John cleared his throat. "Your mother…" his voice cracked at the mention of Mary, and he cleared his throat again, "your mother…is in heaven, Dean." As soon as he'd said it, a thousand questions flew through his mind. _Good God, John. Do you even believe in heaven? And how the hell do you know that Mary's there? You're flooding your children's minds with stuff you don't even know is true. _

The tension hung over the small bedroom like a suffocating presence, all three Winchesters unsure of whether to speak or not. And finally, little Sammy broke the silence.

Crawling across his brother's legs, he scooted close to his dad, wedging himself in between the two older Winchester men. "What's heaven like, daddy?"

_Talk about a weighted question there, Sammy, _John thought silently. Sighing, he ran a hand nervously over his tired face. God, he felt like a hundred years old right now. "Forget about it, Sammy," Dean interjected, shifting away from his dad and brother in an attempt to get back under the blankets.

_Shit, he was losing this moment with his son. Think fast, Winchester. _"It's warm," John stumbled out, trying desperately to think of a way to hold onto his son.

Dean froze, turning slightly to face his dad. Sam looked up from under a long mop of shaggy brown hair, his glance shifting from his dad to his brother, unsure of what to do or say. _Wait, it's warm? Isn't it warm in hell? _"Well, I mean, it's…like a…it's like…" John's eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Sammy's ratty blue blanket, sprawled against the headboard. "It's like being wrapped in your blanket, little man," he said, glancing over at his youngest, who promptly reached over and pulled the worn cloth into his arms. "You know how it makes you feel…warm, safe. That's what it's like up there."

Dean eyed him for a moment, then nodded slightly, apparently satisfied with John's description. "What else?" Sam questioned, intrigued at his father's description. "Well…" John started again, trying to cram for something else he could say.

He caught a sideways glance at Dean's sad features, and immediately realized that he'd made this suddenly about Sammy, unintentionally, of course. Somehow, everything always ended up about Sammy. But this time…this time, John would be damned if he would let this end up all about Sammy too. It had started out about Dean- Dean's question, Dean's tears…and it would end up about Dean if John Winchester had anything to say about it. Not that he would leave Sammy out; Lord knew, that feat in itself was virtually impossible…no, but he would make this about Dean. After all, it was Dean who was struggling with this the hardest, at least right now.

As John scanned the room again, searching for another object he could get a half-assed story out of, his eyes fell on the small telescope up against the motel window. Jim's idea of assimilating the boys. Sammy had decided that this week he'd wanted to be an astrologist. John was surprised that the four year-old even knew what an astrologist was, but Sam was incessant about 'studying the stars'.

John dismissed it as childhood dreams- hell, he had wished he could be a fireman when he was a kid. That was, until he saw _Backdraft_. Just the thought of the movie sent a shiver up John's spine.

But, he quickly realized he was getting off track. The telescope was bought by Jim, in hopes to further engage Sammy in normalcy, make him feel like he could do whatever he wanted. _Assimilate my ass. A -45 would help 'em assimilate better._

After about two weeks, the newness of the telescope wore off, and now it sat as a memento to a dream deferred. John secretly wanted to melt it, use it as ammo, but he just couldn't bring himself to do anything to it. And now, he relished in the fact he hadn't.

"Telescopes," he said assuredly, turning his face to look at his eldest. Dean cocked his head, his eyes shifting to the telescope in the corner, seemingly catching on to John's story. But John was quick to continue before Dean could interrupt. "There are telescopes in heaven. Tons of 'em. And you know what they're used for?"

Sammy nodded vigorously, sitting on the edge of his butt, clearly wanting to answer. But John held a hand up, ducking his head to look in the eyes of his eldest. "They're so your mom can go to one and look down on you, like when ya'll use 'em to look up at the stars. Watch out for you, and make sure you're happy. She wants you to be happy, Dean."

Tears now stung the eyes of the oldest Winchester. His own words echoed in his head like a mantra. _She wants you to be happy. But I can't be happy until I find the son-of-a-bitch that killed Mary. I can't; but my kids can. _

"Do you understand, Dean?" John asked, blinking rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes. Dean looked up at his dad, streaks of salty tears shining in the pale lamplight.

"Telescopes," Dean repeated, a small smile flickering across his face.

Reaching over, he pulled Sammy into his grip, burying his freckled face in the younger boy's mop. "You wanna hear a story, Sammy?" Dean whispered in the younger's ear.

For a split second, Dean's green eyes lifted to look at his dad, his eyes conveying all the emotions words would not at this moment. The whole sight almost brought John to tears all over again. Nodding slightly to his son, he rose and slipped silently out of the room, a smile filling his features as he quietly shut the door.

_You did good, John, _Mary's words drifted through his head as he fell back onto the couch, listening to Sam's giggles from the other room. _And just remember- these telescopes aren't just for Sam and Dean. _

_FIN_


End file.
